Euphoria Read online

  “He chose his own path,” Outhsola calmly said.

  Barth stood, anger bursting out through him. “Yes he did, and you condemned him for it. At least he escaped your punishment!” And then his anger became tears. No one went to comfort Barth as a sob of emotion shuddered out of him. He quickly made for the exit. Lachad and Da’Lynn watched him go, but Outhsola did not.

  When all eyes came back on the leader, he spoke of Da’Lynn’s mission and not of what occurred. “Make haste and go. Three moons is our hourglass, and the first approaches fast.”

  And with that, they were dismissed. Da’Lynn left, nervous and unsure what to think. Never had a show of disrespect manifested in a council meeting before. And then for Outhsola not to scold or rebuke Barth….

  “Good luck.” Lachad left Da’Lynn alone to her task.

  Chapter Ten

  After stabling their horses nearby, Gantha, Ra’na, and Lourak approached the market from the side. It was almost noon when they rode in. Hunger pains racked Gantha, and he could see Ra’na needed to eat because she directed them toward the food stalls. Lourak hadn’t said much since they left the tavern, but as the delicious smells wafted by, Gantha saw his little legs pick up in step.

  Roasted boar as well as some sort of duck smell welcomed them into the market place. An ettin ran the first booth. Most ettins stuck out at the market, being giants with two heads. This one was small—only eight foot.

  Lourak was suddenly startled as the two-headed giant came down and one of the heads addressed him. “Little man want food?” Its voice was a deep baritone.

  The dwarf jumped back, instinct making him reach for his ax, but Ra’na was close enough to stay his hand. A vicious scowl, teeth bared, stayed on Lourak’s face. Ra’na stepped in front of him.

  “What do you have today? It smells really good.” Behind the ettin, a huge boar roasted over an open fire. Farther in the booth, other animals were being cooked by ogre helpers.

  “We have some fantastic….” This voice was a lot different than the other. It was more high-pitched and forward.

  “She was talking to me.”

  Most of this race often argued with themselves, because each head had a personality of its own. Ettins had hyphenated names, one name for each head. Some argued just because of which name came first.

  Gantha stayed back while Ra’na discussed food with the beast. He had seen such a being before, but it was from a safe distance away. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this adventure. He was definitely sure he was going to expand his race knowledge today.

  “Guys, before you start arguing, I want some food. I’m Ra’na, by the way.”

  Both heads turned to look at her when she said her name. The giant bent on one knee to get closer. “Ra’na? The Ra’na that makes those wonderful pies?”

  “We love pie.”

  Gantha marveled at the name recognition. He found it amazing how different races recognized Ra’na because of her cooking.

  “But where are my manners? I am Hynk.” One of the ettin’s hands made a bow motion.

  “I’m Glonk.” For a moment, Gantha had thought someone blew into a battle horn, for the ettin’s name sounded just like one.

  “Nice to meet you both.” Ra’na returned the bow. Gantha followed her lead. It was always a good idea to be friendly to things bigger than the average horse. “Give us the boar, three servings.”

  And in a matter of minutes, the group had its food. Hynk-Glonk wanted to talk to Ra’na more, even tried not to charge her, but she insisted on paying and insisted that she really needed to go.

  A few long benches and tables were set up next to the booth for patrons to eat at. All three sat and dug in silently. The boar was fantastic, its juices running down Gantha’s chin as he voraciously bit into it. Ra’na also eagerly attacked her meal. Lourak picked at his.

  “You’ve been awful quiet today. Ettin got your tongue?” She smiled at her little joke. Lourak gave her a stern look before staring back at his plate. “What is it?”

  Ra’na nudged him.

  “Aye hate bein’ the butt of ever’one’s jokes. Yes, it’s me, a dwarf. Aye’m small, but why do ye have to treat me differently?” He twirled a piece of boar meat on his plate.

  “This again? I thought we got over your short…comings.” She tried to hold back the words, but they came out.

  “See what aye means?” Lourak looked outraged.

  “Why do you take everything as an insult toward you?” Gantha spoke between mouthfuls.

  “And why don’t ye mind yer own frickin’ business!” He pointed a finger at Gantha, who backed up on the bench.

  Ra’na put her arm around Lourak. “You know what this is? It isn’t about your stature. I think you just need a girl. You’re feeling lonely and vulnerable.”

  “What?” Lourak threw her arm off him. “Aye ain’t vulnerable! What crazy stuff ye thinkin’?” He pounded a fist off his chest to show he was a true male dwarf. This fire within him must have made him hungry, because he tore into his boar as any macho dwarf would do.

  “You, elf. Get me somethin’ to drink.” Lourak pointed at Gantha. As he spoke, bits of food fell from his mouth into his beard. The council member sat confused, a little frightened, and disgusted.

  “You wait here, I got it,” Ra’na said, getting up smiling. Gantha wasn’t sure if he was thankful or not, being left alone with a mad dwarf. Lourak stared at him, all the while eating his boar. Gantha felt his appetite dwindle and put down the rest of his meal.

  The dark elf was back in no time with some dark ale. Quickly the dwarf emptied his mug, a quarter of it running down his face. Ra’na sipped at hers, while Gantha looked into his nervously.

  “It’s good. Brewed by a couple of goblins.”

  And she was right. In no time at all, he had half his mug emptied. Lourak had quit staring at him and was busy making sure he had finished every scrap of boar. Gantha finally finished his meal.

  “Thank you, ma’lady. That really….” And the dwarf belched loudly. It was almost a good imitation of Glonk saying his name.

  Ra’na fanned away the stench from Lourak’s belch. “Yes, thank you.” She turned to Gantha, who was drinking the last of his goblin ale. “Here’s the plan. I think I may go track down my sister. She usually knows something.”

  Lourak’s eyes opened wide and he turned to her. Gantha watched, unsure of why the dwarf acted that way. “Katrena?”

  “That is my only sister.”

  “But that lass is crazy!”

  Ra’na’s demeanor changed quickly, giving the dwarf a stern look. “That is my sister you are talking about.”

  “I’m sorry. But last time almost kilt me!”

  “You exaggerate—”

  “Excuse me.” Gantha tried to interrupt so he could be part of the conversation.

  “Well, that bloody throwing knife didn’t just grow wings and fly by itself.”

  “It was a simple misunderstanding—”

  “Excuse me…” Gantha said louder, this time getting Ra’na’s attention. Lourak turned to look at him. “Umm, yes. Who are we talking about?”

  “My—”

  “This lass’s twin sister. Picture Ra’na here, all full of good stuff. Now picture another looker like her, but full of bad stuff. And that’s Katrena,” Lourak said animatedly.

  “Now that’s not fair,” Ra’na said, putting a hand up so the dwarf would not cut her off. “Katrena is my twin sister, and yes she is different in her tastes and manners, but she still is my sister. Usually she knows the gossip or at least where to get it.”

  “And how to kill some poor sap for it,” Lourak added. Ra’na’s reaction was quick. She muttered a spell and waved her hand before the dwarf could mutter a word. He grabbed at his throat as his lips moved. Gantha thought he looked as if he talked, but no sound came out.

  “Now let that be a lesson.” Ra’na turned and noticed Gantha’s look of concern. “It is a harmless silencing spell. It’s not powerful
at all, and on dwarves it is shorter.” She paused and then let out a laugh at the unintended pun.

  Lourak glared at her and tried yelling back at her. It made him look silly. After a minute of unheard insults, he lowered his head and followed the elves deeper into the market.

  ***

  Getting to market had been a difficult chore this morning. From trying to work with a missing hand to trying to make her new slave submissive, Katrena didn’t know if she would even survive.

  The human had awoken and promptly shrieked. Queig was there with a sedative, but the screeching went on for about five minutes before her voice gave out. The drug made her dopey, alert as to knowing what was going on, but drunk in a way.

  Queig had a heck of a time getting her dressed while she half slept. He picked some old clothing of his mistress’s, with her permission of course. Some leather riding boots, slim-fitting pants, a vest that hung open to reveal a halter top.

  It was easy to find the clothes, but it was another thing entirely to dress her quickly. Katrena had the cart loaded and ready before Queig had even half of the clothes on the slave.

  With Katrena’s help, the human was dressed and put in the back of the wagon. By the time her senses returned, they would be in the market. Fear of the other races would keep her in line.

  The goblin took the reins today. Usually Katrena drove, but with the missing hand, she was still trying to figure it all out. Her mind wasn’t really set for marketplace mode. Revenge still boiled in her. All her months of plotting now lost, like her hand and the box. She would have to go back and think things through before her next move on the human queen.

  “What is the plan today? Will you be journeying elsewhere?” Queig asked. Her booth at Aladedas was mainly a front for her other business, which included assassination but could also be thievery or other disreputable pastimes. Often Katrena would go to market to set up, slip away, kill someone, have midday meal, and be back to help tear down.

  “All market today.” Katrena stared at her stump. Most of the ache had left, due to the medicine, but it still looked red and raw. Touching it brought up a stinging sensation that gnawed at her core. It made her feel defeated, weak.

  “Maybe we find magic to attach a new hand.”

  “But where would we get a hand?”

  “I would gladly give up mine to you, mistress.” Queig extended his gnarled, bony hand toward her, its yellowing, gray nails grazing her arm. Katrena slapped it away.

  “Watch the road. I don’t need your hand, or anyone else’s. I will deal with this.”

  That is when they heard the human stirring in the back. It didn’t sound as if the drug had worn off completely, but she was getting her voice back. Aladedas was closer, but they still had some of the trek left to go.

  Katrena climbed back in the wagon to confront the new slave. The woman sat up, looking around in a daze.

  “Where…? Why…?”

  “Listen up… What did you call yourself?”

  It took a moment, but she remembered. “Chele.”

  “Chele. Okay, Chele. We are headed to Aladedas, a marketplace in the Territories.” Katrena waited for the human’s reaction.

  “But…but…I’ll be killed by the monsters.”

  “Sweetie, if you survived me and the Lire wolves, you don’t have much to worry about. Plus, with Queig’s redesign of you, no one will know you are human. They probably won’t know what you are, but they won’t guess human.”

  At that moment, Chele began to cry. Katrena sighed. “Great.” The human covered her face as the tears came.

  “Okay, enough of that. Look at me.” When Chele did, Katrena was startled. The tears running down the human’s face were black. At first the elf thought her tattoo ink was running, but as a new tear formed in the unmarked eye, she saw it was indeed black.

  “Queig!” Katrena yelled out to the goblin. “Black tears?”

  “Oh, they did work. I did not know if it would work—”

  “Why?” she cut into the goblin’s babbling. Then before he could start up again, Katrena said, “Never mind. I…don’t want to know.”

  Chele stared down at her hands, which had the black tears on them. “I’m some sort of freak….”

  Katrena grabbed her arm and pulled on her to come closer. “Yes, you are, but never say that in front of Queig. He saved you from those wolves, and he did this to you. I have given him no restrictions when it comes to you. So if you want to upset that goblin, be my guest. Don’t expect me to stop him.”

  Chele’s eyes grew. Katrena smiled, knowing that the frail human’s fate was in her hand.

  “I expect you to work, do what I or Queig say. If you do that, your life will be fine.”

  Chele looked down at her hands again, the tears now almost gone. “This is no life.”

  Katrena took her finger and placed it under Chele’s chin, pushing her face up. The elf moved in closer, noses but an inch apart. “It is all you got. You’ll get over his death. You’ll get over your looks. If you are going to throw it away, I can simply slit your throat and toss you out the back.”

  Chele tried to look away, but Katrena forced the human to look back with her hand. “But mind you this. If you make trouble, there will be no killing…at least not right away.”

  ***

  Fret came to the river shortly after leaving the house—maybe a mile or so away. He looked back and saw the black smoke fading and tapering off into the sky. His memories were a blur to him. The ax, the blood, and the fire. He remembered them, but only in pieces now, like a fading dream.

  Lyra didn’t speak to him about it. Fret asked, but she only talked about the main mission, to get across the river. Fret wasn’t one hundred percent sold on the idea.

  He canvassed the river now. No boats or anything that could carry him across. Most humans stayed off the water, with the tales of monsters under the surface and then the Territories being just on the other side.

  Feeling weary, Fret stopped the horse and dismounted. He had never ridden this much in his life and was feeling a bit saddlesore. He retrieved the fragment before he sat down on a nearby stump. At his touch, a soft glow began. Lyra’s face appeared, beautiful as ever.

  Have you found a way? she asked.

  “No. And I don’t feel like going on anymore.” Fret sounded like a helpless child, which indeed he was with nobody to bully.

  I sense something…up ahead! Her voice quickened.

  Fret looked up and all around but didn’t see anything. As he stared back down at the mirror, his eye caught something odd. About a half mile down, there appeared to be a man standing—no, floating—above the river. A dumbfounded gaze fell over Fret’s face. When his senses came back to him, he quickly put away the fragment and rode the horse in that direction.

  The man wasn’t floating, Fret realized as he neared, but was standing on a rope bridge made out of some sort of white string, almost invisible from afar. This bridge spanned the river, tied to two sturdy trees, one on either side of the rushing water. It hung about two feet shy of the water. The man, a fisherman, was doing just what his name implied: fishing.

  Fret slowed the horse to a trot and stopped at the end of the bridge. The man had not seen them yet, but as Fret dismounted, the man noticed and started making his way back. Fret decided to leave the fragment hidden for now.

  “I see…you are intrigued…by my bridge.” The fisherman was old, maybe his dad’s age, and was out of breath from the haul back in.

  “Uh, yes.” Fret was not used to talking to adults.

  “The only one, I can tell you. King would probably have my head if he knew.”

  “The king is dead.”

  The fisherman looked up, startled. His eyes burned a brown-amber color. “Is that so? When?”

  Fret had to think on this because he wasn’t always good with the passing of time. Not many people were in small towns. A royal messenger showed up one day, announced La’ard was dead, and that the princess was now queen. Shor
t and sweet. Then he was off to the next village.

  “Maybe about six months or a year.”

  “Hmm…,” the man said, taking his eyes off Fret for a moment. “Don’t get much news down here.” His gaze drifted off to the river.

  Slowly Fret worked up the courage to ask. “Can I use your bridge?”

  The fisherman turned to look upon Fret once again, which made the boy squeamish. “And what need do you have for my bridge?”

  Fret didn’t have an answer for that yet. Did he really want to go to the Territories? As Fret paused, the fisherman apparently started to notice all the dark stains on his clothes.

  “Did you have an accident, boy?” Concern but also a hint of fear in the man’s voice was evident.

  Kill him! Lyra whispered. Fret shook his head violently to erase the words.

  “No!” It came out louder than he wanted it to. The fisherman backed up a step. Fret realized what he had done and did his best to cover it. “I mean, no, sir. My food last night, a rabbit, put up more than a fight and wasn’t quite dead when I went to skin it.”

  He watched the old man’s face to see if the lie worked. Alarm faded and a smile appeared. “Yeah, I had one or two of them like that before. I eventually learned to make sure my kill was dead before even touching it. Took me seven times, but I did learn.”

  Fret smiled back. And soon they were looking at each other awkwardly, having run out of stuff to say. “I’m Koelic, by the way. Shoulda introduced myself first, but I’m old and tend to forget my manners.”

  “Fret. From Smead.”

  “I have been in Smead. Not much there, although I do recall a cobbler there. Dying art.”

  “That’s my dad.” Fret felt at ease with this stranger. Something about him made Fret feel like he could tell him anything.

  Koelic looked at him for a moment before talking again. “I seem to recall when I was there he did have a small child alongside him. I’m guessing that was you. Well, it is mighty nice to meet you again along this long road of life.”